Knock knock knock.

I jolt upright. Sunlight pours in through the blinds. What time is it? I look around, trying to get my bearings.

Knock knock knock.

Oh, right. The door. I climb from bed and go to the front door. Peering through the peephole, I see Cassidy’s worried face.

Sliding the door alarm out of the way with my foot, I unlock the double locks at the same time and open the door.

“Hi, Cassidy.” The bright sky makes my eyes squint.

She looks at my pajama top and boxers. To be fair, I’m wearing a shirt that says ‘GFY.’ I don’t really mean it. It’s supposed to be funny, but I’m aware Go Fuck Yourself is crude and that young kids can read, so it’s a sleep shirt. Just like my twat shirt.

“Are you just now waking up?”

I shrug. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Cassidy nods empathetically. “I understand.”

I really hope she doesn’t understand. I pray she never knows the nightmares that plagued me last night. They were the ones I had right after the accident, where I dream I hit Amy and Samuel on purpose.

“What’s up?” I lean against the open door and wait for her to answer.

She twists her hands in front of her. Her gaze is apprehensive. “So, there’s this guy I like and I’ve been waiting forever for him to ask me on a date. He called twenty minutes ago and asked me out for lunch. Today. The only problem is that I can’t find a sitter on such short notice. I really, really want to go and I don’t have a day off for another week.” She peeks over my shoulder. “Is Connor here, by chance? I don’t see his truck, but I thought maybe…”

“Connor isn’t here,” I say irritably. It’s not her fault, and I remind myself that as I ask her why she can’t take Brooklyn on the date. If the guy likes Cassidy, he better like Brooklyn too.

Cassidy gives me a look that tells me how hopeless I am. “Can you come over and play with her for an hour? Max two? You can even put on a movie.” She makes prayer hands at me. “Please? She likes you.”

Maybe it’s the fact that I’m leaving in two days. Maybe it’s my desire to do something nice for Cassidy. She greeted me on day one with a pie. Maybe that’s why I say yes, even though Brooklyn still terrifies me.

“I’ll be over in twenty, is that okay?” I need to change and grab something to eat.

“Yes!” Cassidy raises a fist. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

She turns to leave, and I shut the door.

The inside of Cassidy’s house looks like a toy store projectile vomited in a small, enclosed space. Dolls and stuffed animals, crayons, building blocks, paper, and even game pieces are everywhere. In the center of it all sits Brooklyn, playing some kind of game with plastic shapes. When she sees me, she tosses the game aside, the pieces flying into the air.

“Brynn!” She runs to me and wraps her arms around my knees.

“Hi, Brooklyn.” I wobble and catch myself on the doorjamb.

Cassidy laughs and shrugs. “She loves you.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I tell Cassidy she looks pretty. Her white top is very low-cut for a lunch date, but who am I to judge? I let Connor paint me half-naked.

I walk farther into the small home and sit down beside Brooklyn. She’s putting shoes on a doll, her previous activity forgotten. She struggles to get one of the shoes on, so I hold the doll in place for her as she works the shoe over the ridiculous and unrealistic arch of the doll’s foot.

“Jeremiah’s here!” Cassidy sings, pulling back her curtain. “I know I should make him come to the door, but”—she nods at Brooklyn—“I’m not ready to have that conversation with her.”

“Have fun,” I say as Cassidy grabs her purse and swings it over her shoulder. “See you soon.”

She bends down to kiss Brooklyn’s head. “Be safe and listen to Brynn.” Cassidy sails out the front door just as Jeremiah is on her first porch step. His lips stretch into a smile when he sees Cassidy. The door swings shuts behind her. I’m curious about Jeremiah, almost curious enough to watch out the front window, Walt-style, but I stay planted beside Brooklyn.

When she’s done playing with the doll, I have her show me where her things belong. Together we clean up the room, and then I make her a snack. Once she’s finished with that, we go out back and I push Brooklyn on her swing set. She wants to go high and I tell her it’s not going to happen, to which she replies that her mommy lets her do it. If Cassidy wants to send Brooklyn to the moon, that’s her prerogative. I prefer a nice, safe medium-height arc.

Declaring she’s going to pick a flower for her mom, Brooklyn slows to a stop and hops off the swing, walking determinedly to the vine growing along the wall. Big purple blooms compete for space down the entire length of the fence we share. Brooklyn walks back and forth, considering, before she reaches in and pulls one off.

“This one is—” Brooklyn’s eyes widen, her mouth falls open. If I weren’t standing in front of her, I wouldn’t think such a scream could come from this small a person.

“Brooklyn, what is it?”

She grabs her throat and starts touching it. Her breath sounds shallow like she’s pulling air through a mesh screen.

I scoop her into my arms and hurry into the house. I fly through the kitchen, grabbing Cassidy’s car keys off a wall hook in the kitchen as I go. Going through the front door and getting into the car is a blur. All I know is that Brooklyn is buckled and she’s still wheezing and crying and none of it sounds good or right. I don’t know squat about first-aid, and why did Cassidy ask me to babysit? How could she leave Brooklyn with me? I’m the least qualified person in the world to watch a kid. I might not have reacted appropriately if she choked. I don’t even know if I’m reacting appropriately now. Maybe I should have called 9-1-1.

Do I have my purse? Do I even have my driver’s license?

I’m driving.

I grip the steering wheel and try to forget about that. I knew it would have to happen eventually, but not like this. Not in a possible emergency, not when I don’t have time to give in to my fear and let the road take away my ability.

I pull up to the emergency room doors and hurry from my seat. Carefully I extract Brooklyn from her car seat and thank God for even the small breath she’s struggling to intake.

With Brooklyn in my arms, I run past the glass door that slides open for me, skidding to a stop at the front desk.

“I need help,” I shout. The woman sitting behind the desk watches me with eyes the size of dinner plates. “She was picking a flower, then she screamed and now she’s not breathing right. I need help. She needs help. Get a doctor. Right now!”

She picks up a phone and presses a button. She stares at me while she waits for someone to answer.

“Right now right now right now,” I demand, fear seizing me. My ability to stay calm went out the window the second Brooklyn began to scream.

I will save this one.